Beautiful Disaster
by Ms. SpearBourne
Summary: House needed comforting after Stacy left. How do they handle the morning after? Some crossover with Becker. Rated M for non-explicit situations
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This ficlet takes place five years prior to the beginning of the series, just after Stacy left._

* * *

Gregory Joseph House had never been much of a morning person. The morning had only ever brought him bright sunshine and headaches.

Just opening his eyes proved painful on this particular morning.

Maybe it was knowing that Stacy was never coming back. Maybe it was knowing that she had left because he had made it impossible for her to stay. Maybe it was the massive quantity of tequila shots he'd downed the previous evening. Or the whiskey. Or the beer. Or the too loud music he'd insisted on playing to drown out the sound of his own miserable thoughts.

Maybe it was waking up with those familiar brown eyes peering back at him from the cocoon of blankets surrounding them. He could hear those eyes caring. It was not an altogether unwelcome feeling, to know that someone cared and worried over his well-being that way. It would almost be nice if not for the pounding in his head and the dreadfully dry mouth. He attempted to force down the wave of nausea that lingered just beneath the surface. _'What the hell happened?'_ he wondered. He remembered calling Wilson after Stacy had taken the last of her things from the apartment. He could still see the wistful look she'd given him before she'd walked out the door for the last time. He had almost begged her to stay, but the words had refused to come.

She had paused before turning the doorknob, as though she wanted him to say something, anything to show her that she mattered to him. When he remained silent, she knew there wasn't anything left for them.

He remembered Wilson showing up at his door an hour later to find House in a stupor at the piano. He remembered heading for a bar with him. He vaguely recalled a few other bars, several, actually . . . and probably getting kicked out of more than one . . . But it was all a blur, hazy, dimmed by alcohol and tears. _'How did I get here?'_

Those brown eyes finally spoke from behind the veil of the cover, the voice characteristically soft and low. "I'll go make some coffee."

When House was alone again, he racked his brain, scrambling, struggling for some shred of what had happened or how he'd managed to wind up in bed with that particular person. It was just too fraught with danger.

In the kitchen, James Wilson poured a glass of cranberry juice and held it out to his cousin. Curiosity was screaming several questions in his brain, but most were highly inappropriate or required a complicated answer. As Aileen was not much of a morning person, even at her best, he settled on asking the simplest question.

"Is he awake?"

She nodded, then squinted against the pain. Her headache - a migraine, really, brought on by emotions that she'd thought she'd long since buried, had her gripping the counter. To avoid her cousin's scrutinising gaze, she busied herself with the coffee she'd promised her estranged husband.

The silence was unbearably awkward.

"Aileen . . ."

She shook her head. She'd known him her entire life; she knew the questions that were churning through his mind. Hell, they were the same questions coursing through her own mind.

_'What does this mean for the two of you?'_

"No, James. You don't want to ask. It's . . ." She didn't have any answers now, only muddled thoughts. She stared into the steaming liquid, sighed, then looked up at him. "When you and Gregory showed up here last night, it all came flooding back. The first time we met, the . . . everything, all of it."

She didn't dare tell him what really had her reeling. She couldn't very well tell the man who was practically a brother to her that seeing Gregory again, holding him in her arms again, had ignited the embers of love once more.

_'Ugh, how cliché,'_ she admonished herself mentally. _'But I suppose we _are_ star-cross'd lovers, doomed never to know more than fleeting happiness. Why must it be this way for us?'_

Wilson could only nod his head. He could see the turmoil in her eyes all too clearly. There was too much history there for her to put into a few words what it had taken years to understand, and all he could do was watch and wait. He only hoped that it didn't all blow up in their faces.

House staggered out of the bedroom then. Unshaven chin, his hair a mess, his normally clear blue eyes clouded by the hangover they all seemed to revelling in, she couldn't help but think that he was a beautiful disaster.

"Thanks, Layla," he murmured as he took the mug from her hand. _'Aileen Layla Becker. Aileen Layla House. Aileen Layla Becker-House.'_ He kept repeating her name over and over in his mind like a prayer, like she was his lifeline to sanity.

Because she was. He knew that she was the only one who truly knew him, the only one that could see through his lies and find the truth behind them. After everything he'd put her though, all the torment that had led her to walk out on him years before, she had still been there for him when he needed a shoulder to lean on.

He didn't deserve her, but she was, undeniably, his wife. His Layla.

And he was her madman.

* * *

_Disclaimer: House, the series, and related characters do not belong to me. Aileen Layla Becker-House is an original character that started out as an idea I had for some Becker fanfiction that never came to fruition. She evolved into this, still Becker's daughter but with a more complicated backstory. I gave him the middle name, Joseph, as a nod to my boyfriend._


	2. Chapter 2

_If I could hold on through the tears and the laughter, would it be beautiful or just a beautiful disaster?_ (from the song, Beautiful Disaster, written by Rebekah Jordan and Matthew Wilder, and sung by Kelly Clarkson)

Every movement made her wince, but, still, she bustled about the kitchen, preparing another pot of coffee.

House sat at the table, unwilling to move a muscle. The slightest nod sent his head spinning. Just the sound of the water running as Wilson showered was like a drumbeat on his temples.

How was he going to get through the day?

A scraping sound made him cast his eyes downward. "Oatmeal?"

"It'll stick to your ribs. Just try to get a couple of bites down." Aileen groaned against her own nausea. "Do you want me to call the hospital for you? Tell them you're sick?"

Absent-mindedly, he stirred the contents of the bowl in front of him. "Nah. I'll let Wilson take care of that."

"Okay." She sipped her coffee and hoped the pain would subside soon. The headache wasn't helping matters, either.

"What time do you have to be at the clinic?" he asked, more to break the silence than out of curiosity.

"About nine. My first appointment's at ten, but I have some paperwork to update, forms to fax." She swallowed the words she really wanted to say to him: _What the hell was that last night? Was it a one-time thing? Did it mean anything or were you just looking for someone to hold you?_

Wilson hobbled his way to the table, grateful for the bowl of oatmeal his cousin slid in front of him. "Is there more coffee?"

"Almost ready." She crossed back to the counter when she heard the distinct sound of the coffee maker nearly through its cycle.

Wilson shot his friend a pointed look but said nothing. House merely shook his head slowly. He knew what he wanted to ask, could practically hear the younger man shouting at him not to put her through hell.

But, House knew, if anyone was at risk of getting hurt here, it was him. _She_ had walked away from him twice before - three times, if he counted that night she'd stormed out and he'd been stupid enough to -

The phone ringing was like a bell being clanged against all their heads. Aileen rushed to answer it. "Hello?" She winced as she listened to the person on the other end of the line. "Oh. Okay . . . Yeah. I'll be there . . . Migraine . . . Haha, will do," she smiled as she hung up. "Margaret," she answered the unasked question. "My ten o'clock had to reschedule for this afternoon." She groaned as a new spot behind her right eye began to pulsate.

Unaware of even rising, House was at her side in a flash. "Come on. Sit. I'll get your medicine." Without a protest, she allowed him to lead her back to the table, opened her mouth when he returned with the foul-tasting liquid that would help the pain subside, then leaned against him even as he leaned against her.

_'What a pair they make,_ Wilson mused as he downed another cup of coffee.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Time for some crossover with Becker_

_At Reggie's Diner, The Bronx, midday_

"Hi, Aileen," Bob sang as he slid onto the stool beside her.

"Hello, Bob."

"What's wrong? Bob does not like to see his lady unhappy."

"Oh, n-not unhappy. I just woke up with a migraine. My head's still a little sore, that's all," she assured him.

"A migraine. Right. What brought it on?"

She had been hoping she wouldn't have to tell him what had happened, but she knew she'd have to get it over with. "My cousin showed up at my apartment last night. Drunk."

"Oh." Bob felt terrible about the tone he'd taken a moment ago.

"And with my ex."

"Also drunk?"

Aileen nodded wordlessly.

"Oh, man, that had to be rough. Seeing him again after all this time. Is he a mean drunk?"

She glanced up at him. He was sweet to be protective of her. "No, not mean, just sloppy. And clumsy. But, with his leg . . ."

He nodded, sympathetic to the man's troubles. "No wonder you've got the migraine."

Reggie emerged from the kitchen carrying a box laden with Aileen's carry-out order. "Hey, Bob," she greeted with disdain. Even though he'd stopped hitting on her when he got involved with Aileen, he still gave her the creeps. "So, I marked everything: the tuna melt, the Swiss and mushroom burger, Cobb salad, and the two orders of chicken strips. The onion rings and cheese sticks are in the little boxes. Oh, and here's the flatware."

"Great. Thanks, Reg." She prepared to head back to the office, but Bob hefted the box for her.

"I'll walk you back to work." He could tell something else was bothering her. A visit from her cousin, even with her ex, would not have left her so . . . rattled.

"Thanks, Bob. See ya later, Reg." Mentally, she steeled herself for the questions he was bound to ask.

"Aileen, B- I know everybody thinks I'm just this joker who - you know - cracks wise and has crazy schemes, but -"

"You worry about me. Yeah, I know. You're sweet. And you notice more than most realise." She heaved a weary sigh.

"Yeah," he responded. "They showed up, drunk . . ." he prompted.

"Stacy left him," she stated."

"Explains the drunk part. Why'd they come all the way out here from Princeton-Plainsboro? Not enough liquor in New Jersey?"

Her lips twitched in a sad half-smile. "From what I could gather, they got kicked out of several bars on their way to my place. Whether they actually meant to make it to me, I don't know. But, there they were, on my doorstep, and I couldn't very well let them wander around until morning, could I?"

"No, no, you couldn't let them get arrested. Did they make a racket all night? Is that what brought on the headache?" He hoped that was the case.

"There was a racket, yes." She kept her eyes fixed on what was in front of her. "I'm not really sure how it happened, but, one minute, Gregory and I were screaming at each other, the next, I woke up -" She stopped suddenly.

It came rushing back to her. They had been screaming. He was blaming her for saying it was okay for him to get involved with someone new. She threw it in his face that he kept everyone at a distance, that he never let anyone get close enough to see his flaws. He said there was only one person he'd let in, and she had walked out on him. She told him he'd pushed Stacy away. Angrily, he informed her that he meant Aileen. Bitterly, she spat that he could have fooled her. He called her manipulative. She called him cantankerous.

And then his mouth was on hers, tasting of whiskey and tears, hungrily reclaiming what he'd thought was lost to him forever. They had clawed at each other, ripping clothes and stumbling to the bed in a frenzy.

It had been angry and passionate and animalistic. Everything she remembered and then some.

Bob's hand on her arm jolted her back to the present. "Did you - I mean, the two of you - Were you . . ?" He let the question hang in the air between them.

Almost imperceptibly, she nodded, ashamed. Bob was a kind man, though silly at times, and she cared about too much to hurt him. But, then, Gregory had shown up and thrown a wrench into the life she'd started building for herself.

"Are - Does that mean . . ." He couldn't bring himself to ask the one question he needed answered.

She turned and lifted a hand, hesitating before she touched his face. "We didn't - That is, there was no - Um . . . It was a one-time thing. All those things that went wrong before . . . They can't be swept away so easily. Things aren't the way we want them to be just because we want them to be that way. And sometimes things aren't the way they _should_ be, either." She shook her head sadly. "Why would you ever want somebody like me?"

He grinned. "Because you're the best thing that ever happened to me."

* * *

_At the doctors' office_

Margaret noticed the difference as soon as they walked in. Aileen looked . . . lighter, somehow, than she had when she'd left to pick up lunch. Could it really have been _Bob_ that had that effect on her?

He hefted the box onto the table that served as their lounge. "All right, I have to go take care of some stuff, but I'll be back by the time you close up."

Aileen smiled widely. "Okay. And thanks for walking me back."

"Anytime, sweetheart," he murmured as he planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Aw, jeez, Bob! I don't need to see that!" Becker whined. "We're about to have lunch!"

Aileen chuckled. Despite his reaction, she knew her father would rather see her with Bob than back in that tumultuous relationship she'd had with Gregory.

Not that she could ever tell Bob that, of course.

* * *

"Things going well between the two of you?" Becker asked of his only child.

"Yes, Dad. We're having dinner at Ming's, if you want to join us."

"No, no. Don't want to intrude."

"I'm buying."

He glanced at her and reached for a cheese stick. He knew she only ate those when she was upset about something. That _something_ was usually House. "All right. If you insist."

"And I do," she teased.

Aileen felt like her life was finally starting to make sense.


End file.
